Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C155

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Chapter 155: This Essay Is Really Good!

"Zeng Ha'er is being petty, isn’t he?" Lü Ping’s mood could only be captured in the local dialect. "Bro Gu Lu, don’t you think?"

Gu Lu wasn’t entirely sure how the conflict between Lü Ping and Zeng Jie had started, but he offered what little insight he had. "The nickname ‘Ha'er’ doesn’t sound all that flattering, to be honest."

"That’s how close friends talk. Have you heard of Fan Ha'er? He was a badass!" Lü Ping quickly added, referring to , a warlord from during the Republican era, who was also a leader of the secret society known as the . Fan earned the nickname "Ha'er Commander" and gained popularity in Sichuan and Chongqing due to his portrayal in films and TV dramas.

"But calling someone ‘Ha'er’ can still come off as an insult, even if you’re supposedly close," Gu Lu thought to himself. Seeing the stubborn look on Lü Ping’s face, he knew further arguments would be futile.

"By the way, was my stretching earlier professional enough?" Gu Lu asked, knowing Lü Ping’s track training meant he’d been drilled by proper coaches.

During evening self-study, many of the athletes often trained.

"It was pretty good, but no amount of stretching will save you from soreness at this point," Lü Ping said, shattering Gu Lu’s hopes with clinical precision. "Once you’ve reached this level of exertion, stretching won’t make much difference."

"!" Gu Lu refused to believe Lü Ping’s unconventional wisdom.

"Old Black went easy on us today. Otherwise, it’d have been worse," Lü Ping remarked, seemingly unfazed.

It might’ve been wiser to group art exam students and athletes into one class and competition-focused students into another, but ’s administration had other plans, leading to the current arrangement.

Ah, so that’s why Classes Three and Ten were labeled Innovation Classes rather than Competition Classes?

In the afternoon, Gu Lu brought his draft to the office. Even though there hadn’t been a literature class that morning, it was rare for the homeroom teacher to be absent all morning.

He handed over the essay and left promptly, having promised his desk mate he’d help quiz her on vocabulary words.

On one side sat Gu Lu, ready to test; on the other, Qi Caiwei, prepared to write.

---

Inside the office—

"He writes so fast," Ms. Gao murmured as she took the manuscript.

She’d told him yesterday not to rush, yet here he was, submitting it the very next day. If it weren’t for the precedent set by the alcohol culture essay contest, she might’ve assumed he was being careless.

Excited to dive into the piece, she paused when her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, her expression shifted from sunny to cloudy, then outright stormy.

Without hesitation, she hung up. Rubbing her temples, she tidied her desk—a habit she fell back on whenever stressed.

"If you’re feeling down again, just mess with my desk directly," joked a colleague.

Among the stack of student notebooks, some had curled corners, their rough edges betraying hasty handling. Ms. Gao smoothed them out one by one, finding solace in the repetitive motion.

Returning to the essay, she read the title: "."

Ms. Gao was immediately hooked—

[If never existed, nearly every major poet of the would rise a rank.

Li Shangyin wouldn’t be called “Little Li,” and Wang Changling would reign supreme in quatrain poetry.

Du Fu would become the undisputed greatest poet…]

It wasn’t perfect, but it flowed beautifully—more smoothly than "Why Do We Have National Confidence."

"People who excel at writing essays aren’t necessarily great writers, and vice versa. But Gu Lu seems to master both. If this were a contest, he’d undoubtedly win first prize."

"More than enough for Red Rock Magazine. But does it stand a chance for ?" Ms. Gao pondered.

After a few seconds, she dismissed the thought and continued reading aloud in her mind, reaching the conclusion: "How fortunate we are that our history has a Li Bai."

As someone who cherished poetry, Ms. Gao deeply resonated with these lines. In her heart, she added her own verse: "How fortunate we are to have Li He and , how blessed our history is with so many great poets…"

The collections of Xin Qiji and Li He rested beside her, dog-eared from countless readings.

Everyone, surely, has a poet they hold dear—a poem they can’t let go of. This, too, is part of the Chinese romantic spirit.

"Kunlun jade shatters as phoenixes cry, lotus weeps dew while orchids exhale… Oh, I almost forgot something." Ms. Gao snapped out of her reverie, relieved she hadn’t neglected her duties.

---

Another break between classes.

One student, one teacher.

"About the submission," Ms. Gao began.

"Is there a problem with the essay?" Gu Lu asked, surprised. Surely not? Even if it didn’t make it to People’s Literature, it was more than sufficient for the assignment.

"The article is excellent. I just forgot to mention earlier that it also needs to be published on the writer’s personal social media platform," Ms. Gao explained. "Most choose , and it should include hashtags like #PromoteTangPoetry and #LiBaiDuFu."

Ah, Gu Lu understood. A state-assigned task required the writer to promote it independently first—it was a baseline requirement.

"No problem. I’ll handle it tonight," Gu Lu assured her. He was already a small influencer on Weibo!

Though he considered true influencers those with millions of followers, he still had a long way to go.

Ever since Youth Literature had launched its controversial marketing campaign around , the results had been mixed. Sales of the book soared, and his Weibo following skyrocketed. He was even hailed as the "Young Oscar Wilde." With so many positives, the negatives seemed negligible.

Life felt fulfilling. Very fulfilling.

And fulfillment, in another sense, meant busyness. Gu Lu was indeed quite busy, rivaling his classmates preparing rigorously for final exams.

"Did you finish the math problems?" Qi Caiwei stopped him just as he was about to dash out of the classroom.

"…Tomorrow, I swear I’ll finish them tomorrow," Gu Lu quickly amended, seeing the disapproving look on his desk mate’s face. "Honestly, it’s not intentional. I had an article to write and a bunch of other things to do."

It sounded like an excuse, but Qi Caiwei listened intently. "Other things?"

"I have two books coming out soon. Someone wrote the preface for Mr. Holmes, and I need to approve it. Plus, I’m writing the introduction for my short story collection, . So yeah, I’ll be pretty swamped tonight," Gu Lu explained.

Two more books coming out? His nonchalant boasting was lethal. Qi Caiwei rolled her eyes, tired of saying how envious she was.

"I guess I was a bit short-tempered earlier because I spent a lot of time picking out those practice problems. The ones in the workbooks weren’t suitable—they were either too advanced or irrelevant to your level," Qi Caiwei admitted.

Qi Caiwei and Li Guyuan had been tutoring him intensively in science and humanities respectively. With such mentors, how could he not improve?

"My bad. I didn’t realize you put so much effort into it," Gu Lu apologized sincerely. He’d assumed the questions were copied from old tests, chosen specifically to prevent him from peeking at answer keys.

Qi Caiwei waved off his apology. "I got upset because I saw you hadn’t touched them in two days and thought you weren’t taking it seriously. But now I understand—you’re busy, and writing really is your priority."

"No need to apologize. Just knowing you didn’t waste my efforts is enough," Qi Caiwei said. "Alright, deal. Finish the problems by tomorrow and bring them to me."

With that, she gathered her things and left.

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